


Like the Sway of Your Hips

by Twice_Shy (notboldly)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bottom Derek Hale, Clubbing, Dirty Dancing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nerd Derek Hale, Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/Twice_Shy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles teaches Derek to dance, and then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Sway of Your Hips

If there was one constant in Stiles's college life, it was that Derek Hale lived to rain on his parade.

"Come _on_ , Derek," Stiles groaned after Derek refused his invitation yet again. "End of finals? Beginning of winter break? Any of this ringing a bell? You can't tell me you're honestly going to stay in our dorm room on a _Friday night_." Stiles gestured widely, trying to encompass the beige walls, cheap yellow tile, and ridiculous twin beds that really said it all.

Despite Stiles's excellent argument, Derek didn't so much as look up from his book. That was probably for the best; Stiles was trying to convince him to go out clubbing with them, just this once, and he couldn't afford to be distracted by the sight of Derek glaring at him through reading glasses.

"I'm well aware of that, Stiles, which is why I have to finish this." Derek tilted the book up, revealing the riveting title of _The Golden Ratio : The Story of PHI, the World's Most Astonishing Number._ Stiles was absolutely certain it wasn't as interesting as it sounded, and it didn't sound that interesting to begin with. "It was an interlibrary loan."

"You can finish it tomorrow!"

"I have to pack tomorrow."

"That'll take like twenty minutes, because you're the most organized person ever. It's not like you don't have time to do both, Mr. Overachiever." 

Derek smiled at that, very briefly. 

"Please, Derek. Pretty please." He clasped his hands in front of him, a pleading look on his face. "It's our last weekend as roommates. We have to do something."

Derek looked up sharply, book momentarily forgotten. The smile from before was gone without a trace, and there was a frown marring his stupidly attractive face.

"I thought we were rooming together next semester." He sounded putout, like he thought maybe Stiles had been seeing other roommates behind his back. It filled Stiles's chest with warmth, even though he knew Derek's fear was unfounded. Derek was awesome, party pooper tendencies aside, even if Stiles entered a new world of sexual frustration whenever Derek came back from the shower in just a towel.

"Of course we are, dude," Stiles reassured him. "Paperwork went through already and everything." He nodded decisively. "But I'm still going home to Beacon Hills and you're going to Maine, and we should definitely hang out while we can."

Derek looked as if he might be willing to be persuaded for exactly half a second, and then he went back to his book.

"I'm not a clubbing person. We can have breakfast tomorrow, or something."

"What kind of teenager are you?" Stiles grumbled, and then regretted it when he saw Derek's shoulders stiffen under his maroon sweater. "That's not what I meant. But…how many clubs are there in Brewer, Maine, seriously? I'm surprised you're not jumping at the chance to get out and mingle with people your age, drink not-booze, maybe grind against a hottie on the dance floor." Stiles died a little inside at the realization that he'd have to _watch_ Derek grinding against someone in this scenario, but he pressed on. "I know you're more of a library person than a frat party person, but everyone should go to a club at least once for the experience. And hey, Isaac will be there! And Scott! I know you love Scott."

Derek sighed in defeat.

"If I agree to go to this club tonight, will you shut up and let me read for the next few hours?"

Stiles nodded so quickly that he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Then fine." Derek turned the page, although Stiles wasn't sure how he'd managed to read an entire page in the last minute, with Stiles yammering away in the background. "I can't stay there long, though."

"Oh, we won't!" Stiles gave into the urge to pump his fist triumphantly, practically vibrating in excitement. Derek had _said yes_ ; wheedling aside, Stiles honestly hadn't expected that. "You're going to have so much fun, dude, I promise. Just leave it to me; I'll bet we can find you a nice girl to dance with, or even a guy— "

"Stiles."

Stiles paused in his impassioned speech to see Derek glaring at him pointedly. Stiles took the hint and mimed zipping his lips, but after another minute of silence and anxious chair rocking, he realized that promise was doomed to failure.

Stiles stood and grabbed the first book he saw, one of Derek's weird nonfiction ones, and he only had to glance at the title before he put it down again; unfortunately, all of his own books were already packed. Oh well—maybe he could go hang at Scott's.

"Okay. I'll just leave you to it, then."

Derek waved at him absently, and Stiles ducked out the door before he could give in to the urge to talk Derek's ear off some more, like a little kid in love with their favorite babysitter. God, he was so obvious.

***

Between the sweaters, button ups, and khakis, Derek pretty much always looked like a hot librarian. It was a look that worked for him, of course, because there was no lumpy sweater in the world capable of hiding all that _fine_ , but it wasn't a fashion that was really suitable to clubbing. Stiles realized this about halfway through the afternoon, and he briefly debated calling the whole thing off on account of poor planning. In the end, he decided to go through with it, and he simply resigned himself to being the buffer between his fantastically nerdy roommate and all the jerks who came out at night. Maybe he could loan Derek something of his; the fit would be tight and his shirts would never get their shape back, but it was better than the alternative of Derek feeling uncomfortable and out-of-place.

As it turned out, Stiles needn't have worried. When he went back to their room that night to change, bouncing in exhilaration with each step, Derek was already waiting for him. He was also wearing a pair of ridiculously tight distressed jeans, a plain black tank top that showed a tantalizing glimpse of chest hair and collar bones, and a leather jacket that Stiles had never seen before. _None_ of the outfit was something Stiles had seen before, actually; Derek had even spiked his hair, rather than letting it curl gently above his forehead.

Stiles gaped. In his regular clothes, Derek was hot as hell, but it was the comfortable sort of hot, like cuddling in front of a warm fireplace in the mountains and then making sweet love while it snowed outside. As much as Stiles desperately wanted to get under Derek's sweaters all the time, it was a slow-burning need, something he'd adapted to through exposure. It might drive him crazy eventually, but for now, he could handle Derek in sweaters.

Derek in clubbing clothes was something else entirely—the guy who never needed to buy his own drinks, the date who put out before the first dinner, the one night stand you didn't call because you knew he'd break your heart. It was so far from the Derek Stiles knew that the effect was devastating to his equilibrium, and he knew he was staring like an idiot. His knees felt weak.

"Stiles?" Derek, being the nerd that he was, looked a little uncertain as he shifted from foot to foot. "Does this…look okay?"

Stiles shook himself out of his stupor and nodded, pretending his brain wasn't dribbling out of his ears.

"Yeah, man. You look…great. Really great." By some miracle, his voice didn't come out sounding breathy and full of longing. "Um. Where'd you get that outfit?"

"The jeans are new. Laura gave me the jacket last year," Derek said, with an affectionate pat to the front pocket. It was official: Stiles hated Laura. 

(No, he didn't.)

"Looks expensive. Maybe you should leave it here; you don't want it to get stolen while you're on the dance floor, and trust me, the club will be hot enough."

Derek sighed.

"Right." He stripped the jacket off with a twist of his body that displayed his arms and shoulders perfectly, then he gestured at Stiles. "Are you wearing that?"

"No. Uh, gimme a minute."

Stiles rushed to the closet and changed. He'd planned his outfit meticulously in order to give off a vibe with just the right level of not caring, but he was pretty sure Derek still had him beat with sheer effortless appeal. It was frustrating, but also not surprising; Derek would look good in anything.

It was a little more frustrating when Scott and Isaac showed up, though, and Isaac gave a low whistle.

"Damn, Derek. Here I thought we'd find you here in Stiles's Batman shirt."

Derek smiled, a little stiffly, and then turned a significantly warmer expression on Scott. For whatever reason, Derek had always looked at Scott like that, even back when he and Stiles had still been barely-friendly.

(No, Stiles wasn't jealous. Honest.)

"Hey, I would've loaned him the Superman one at least," Stiles said, mostly to break the standoff. Scott smiled at him dopily, looking like someone who'd just stepped off a runway in his clubbing clothes, and Isaac looked about the same. Stiles decided then and there that he really needed to stop hanging out with such hot people; it was seriously cutting into his self-esteem.

"Well, are we ready?"

They all nodded, and after Stiles quickly grabbed his keys, phone, and license, they were off. The car ride was a little awkward, crammed in as they were, but fortunately the club was only fifteen minutes away, in the classier part of downtown. Getting inside was easy once the bouncer spotted Derek and his marvelous shoulders, and by some miracle, they found a table almost immediately. Stiles was starting to think the night was blessed, and it was with generous thoughts that he bought the first round of (sadly) non-alcoholic drinks.

He sat next to Derek and drank his soda, shamelessly glorying in the press of Derek's thigh against his own for those few brief moments. Once Scott and Isaac left to try their luck at the bar, though, Stiles knew his time was running short. He downed the rest of his Dr. Pepper quickly and forced a grin; the last thing he wanted to see was Derek getting asked to dance. It was a self-preservation thing, really.

"Well, I'm out of here, dude. See you on the dance floor!"

Derek nodded, expression strangely blank as he stirred his half-full drink. Stiles wanted to comment, but he was pretty sure Derek wouldn't have anything to say. The music was loud and getting louder by the minute, and Stiles _had_ to dance. If he was lucky, maybe he'd meet a hot, bearded guy to grind against when the songs went low and dirty, but if not, at least he'd be having fun.

Stiles danced with anyone who asked, and then danced by himself when nobody did. He'd long since gotten out of range of Scott and Isaac, although he knew approximately where they were. If he focused, he would've been able to see Scott and his floppy hair over by the bar, but the lights were too dim to make it worth the effort. So for the moment, he danced.

It had been a half hour, maybe more, when he realized he hadn't seen Derek at all. He immediately turned towards their table, and he was both surprised and not to see Derek still sitting there. It was impossible to believe no one had asked him to dance, and that meant Derek had said no. Many times.

It was weird enough that he couldn't let it go, and Stiles made his way to their table, undeterred by the various squirming bodies in his way. When he got close enough, he still found himself almost shouting to be heard over the music.

"Derek? Are you okay?"

Derek didn't hear him, so Stiles tapped him on the shoulder. When Derek turned, his expression went from frustrated and unwelcoming to something that looked almost miserable. Stiles couldn't stand for that, and so he quickly pulled up a chair and leaned in. With his mouth inches from Derek's ear, he didn't have to try nearly so hard to be heard.

"Derek? What's wrong?"

Derek shrugged and looked down at his drink; the last of the frozen concoction was nearly melted, the umbrella drooping sadly against the glass.

"Don't you want to dance?" Stiles tried, because he was pretty sure he'd seen Derek glance at the dance floor when they'd first come in.

Derek shrugged again, but then he turned and opened his mouth to answer back. Stiles had to lean in to hear him, and he shivered when Derek's breath brushed his cheek.

"I don't know how to dance."

Stiles thought he'd misheard him, but when he pulled away and saw that same frustrated expression on Derek's face, he knew he hadn't. That didn't make the words any less baffling.

"Dude, what are you talking about? Anyone can dance." Stiles waved a hand at the gyrating bodies and flashing lights. "I mean, did you see me out there earlier?"

Derek nodded, still looking frustrated.

"Yeah, I saw you." He fiddled with his drink umbrella, like he was fumbling for something to say. "You looked—"

"Ridiculous, flaily, like Gumbi on crack, I know." Stiles had heard it all, and that wasn't the point anyway. "But I was having so much fun, and I even got people to dance with me more than once. Dancing isn't about having the perfect form or the right moves; it's about having the enthusiasm, and the drive to just get _out_ there."

"Really," Derek said, completely deadpan, and Stiles snorted. Yeah, he guessed he understood where that might be a problem for someone as self-contained as Derek. Still, he was not willing to give up.

"Well, then practice. Fake it until you make it, and it'll come naturally." He grabbed Derek's arm, fingers closing gently around his warm bicep. "Come on, I'll help you. Teach you a few moves."

" _You'll_ help me?" Derek repeated, sounding strangled. "Are you—are you asking me to dance with you?"

Stiles couldn't figure out what his tone meant, not with the music so loud, so he deliberately kept his offer light. Friendly, with absolutely no year-old lust whatsoever.

"In the very technical sense, yeah. Do you want to?"

Derek hesitated, but after a moment, he nodded. Stiles grabbed his hand gently and pulled him from the table, trying not to notice the breadth of Derek's palm or how warm his skin was. He lead Derek to the dance floor, pulling him behind him like he was tugging a wagon. Derek didn't put up much resistance until they reached the fringe of the crowd, and then he froze.

Stiles tried to pull him forward again, but it was suddenly like trying to move a monument.

"Derek, trust me on this. It's better to be closer to the center." Derek gave him a skeptical look. "Seriously! I get too self-conscious when I'm standing next to the tables. I feel like everyone's watching and judging, instead of watching and dancing."

Stiles tugged again, insistently, and Derek followed, albeit reluctantly. When Stiles stopped halfway to the center of the crowd and dropped Derek's hand, he didn't go far. He tuned into the music and began to shift with the beat, bending his knees and rocking his shoulders, from only a few feet away. 

Derek tried to copy him, but he looked uncomfortable, standing too straight and stiff, and Stiles decided to try a different tactic. The music was too loud to really talk much from that distance, so he reached out and pulled Derek a little closer, palms on his hips and fingertips tantalizingly close to the curve of his ass.

"It might help to have a partner at first," he explained. "Here, roll your hips like this." He demonstrated, and although Derek copied him again, it was clearly a feeble effort. Stiles shook his head, exasperated. "Dude, come on. Isaac told me you had to do the samba in theater class; shake that money maker."

Derek shot him an unimpressed look, and it was the first time that night that he'd honestly looked like himself.

"I _hate_ that saying," he said, but when he rolled his hips again, it looked more fluid, natural, and damn sexy. 

Stiles grinned and repeated the motion, this time adding a shuffling step backwards. Derek went with him, seemingly content with his only guidance being Stiles's hands on his hips. Stiles was honored by his trust, even though having Derek this close was torture.

They continued that way, shuffling around and occasionally wiggling their hips, until the song ended. Stiles was sweating, his arms aching from the effort of not pulling Derek closer, and people were looking at them now. Or, more accurately, they were looking at Derek; Stiles wasn't sure if it was because of the way he was rolling his hips or the wide smile he now wore, but either way, it would probably be no effort at all to find Derek a dance partner. 

Stiles's hands clenched possessively at the thought before he forced himself to let go, and then the next song started.

"This is a different kind of song," Stiles pointed out, which was the truth. The new song was less drums and more techno, the beat slightly faster. "You okay for one more?"

Derek nodded quickly. "Sure. I'm having a good time; you're a good teacher." He punctuated the statement with another smile, this one softer, and oh. Stiles had almost forgotten.

Stiles laughed. If the sound was a little forced, who could tell under the music?

"Well, I'm happy to help." He placed his hands on Derek's shoulders for this dance, and they were unfortunately no less perfect than his hips. "Ready?"

Derek nodded again, and with Stiles's guidance, they began jumping and rocking to the music.

***

Stiles's motives for teaching Derek to dance were not as altruistic as he wanted to pretend, a fact that became glaringly obvious when he kept finding flimsy excuses to keep close to him for each and every song after that. He told himself it was fine, though; "just friends" danced together all the time, and Derek didn't seem to want to stop. 

The problem came when the song changed from less of an upbeat dancing song to more of a "fuck me on the dance floor" song. Stiles had no choice but to revert back to the first dance style he'd shown Derek. It earned him an unreadable look, and for the first time in the past half hour, Derek's dancing became cold and mechanical. Stiles didn't get it.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and Derek nodded stiffly.

"Fine." He said something else, but it was quiet and Stiles didn't catch it. He leaned forward, close enough to catch the smell of Derek's clean cologne and the faintest whiff of salt.

"Repeat that?"

"I said, is this how you dance with someone you're interested in?"

Stiles swallowed, and Derek watched him. They'd stopped dancing, but the music was still pounding in Stiles's blood, in his head.

"In theory?" He said, voice weak. "But no, not really. I didn't think you'd want that." _That_ being Stiles's inappropriate and inevitable hard-on, an absolute certainty if he had to grind against his hot roommate.

"I don't mind," Derek said quickly, and then he looked hesitant. "I'd like to learn."

Stiles didn't know how he was supposed to take that. He knew how he _wanted_ to take that, but Derek…well, Derek liked school, liked learning about everything. That's probably all it was.

Stiles gestured him forward, and when Derek stepped into the circle of his arms, Stiles's hands immediately came to rest low on his back. His shirt was slightly damp there, from sweat and heat, and Stiles itched to touch his skin. He didn't; he was already in trouble with the full press of Derek's hips against his, the way their chests brushed when he breathed. It was amazing he could find enough air that wasn't scorched between them.

"Ready?" The song was half-over; maybe Stiles could stall for time.

Derek nodded, and a bead of sweat slipped off his hair to land on his collarbone. Stiles shuddered, wanting so badly to lean forward and lick the drop up, and then they started to move. It was slow at first, and dirty, and too close, and Stiles wanted to confess _something_ , but he wasn't sure what: that his dances with other people rarely got this far, or that Derek was a _natural_ , or that Stiles was about to lose his mind from the way Derek fit so perfectly between his legs. Maybe he wanted to say all of that.

The song changed, but Stiles didn't really notice or care. They kept dancing just as they were, Stiles's potential hard-on having long since become an _actual_ hard-on, and Stiles's hand moved down, unbidden, to where Derek's ass met his thigh. He had to suppress a moan, because Derek's ass was perfect, the sort of ass you could only have if you were genetically blessed and did a thousand back squats each week. Just enough bounce, just enough give, and more than a handful; Stiles gave an experimental squeeze because he doubted he'd ever get the chance again, and Derek made a low sound and leaned his entire body against him. It threw Stiles off-balance, especially when he realized that Derek was hard too, an impressive feat in those tight jeans.

"Are you serious?" he asked, face pressed into the curve of Derek's neck. Derek had tilted his head to allow Stiles room during their dance earlier, and Stiles hadn't thought anything of it. Now, though, he couldn't stop thinking about how close he was to tasting him, especially if Derek… "Derek, are you _serious_?"

"I'm always serious," Derek said, all but panting the words, and Stiles told himself he wasn't going to second guess this.

"Do you wanna go home?" Stiles asked, voice unnaturally deep, and when Derek nodded, Stiles pulled away far enough to reach his phone in his front pocket. He texted Scott quickly to tell him where he was going but didn't wait for a response; Isaac would make sure he got home okay, even if he'd probably bitch about the cab fare. Whatever, Stiles would pay him back.

Stiles was prepared to pay him back with interest, actually, when he found out that "leaving early" meant "having Derek press him against his Jeep and kiss him breathless." Stiles had expected something like this, but he hadn't expected their first kiss to be all tongue, with Derek tasting like whatever drink he'd been nursing earlier. Stiles didn't even like blueberry, but Derek's mouth was cool and sweet and part of _Derek_ , and that meant that Stiles had to plunge his tongue inside to chase the taste. Derek groaned like Stiles had put his mouth somewhere a whole lot lower, and Stiles didn't know if he'd be able to concentrate enough to _drive_ if this kept up.

He pushed Derek away, very reluctantly, and gave him a friendly pat on the ass as he ushered him to the passenger seat. The look Derek shot him in return was hungry and far from friendly, and it was a look that stayed with Stiles as he sped the entire way home. They barely made it inside their dorm room before Stiles pounced, shoving his hand under Derek's tank top and shoving him back against their door.

"God, finally," he groaned, fingers eagerly learning the muscle underneath all that glorious dark hair. "I'm so glad you decided to dance with me."

Derek chuckled, a sound that Stiles felt under his lips as he mouthed at Derek's throat.

"I'm glad you asked. Do you know how hard it was, watching you dance with everyone else? You even danced with _Isaac._ "

"Hey, Isaac is a good dancer. It's not his fault he's got less cushion for the pushin'.'" Stiles squeezed Derek's ass through his jeans to make his point, and he got an annoyed huff in return.

"If you don't take your pants off in the next minute, you're never getting your hands on this ass again."

Stiles sprang away as if he'd been burned, hands already going for his belt. Derek looked torn between alarmed and flattered at the speed with which he obeyed the joking command, but Stiles had no pride when it came to Derek. He was pretty sure everyone knew that.

Derek was still pressed against the door and frozen when Stiles had tossed his jeans, underwear, and shirt into a pile in the corner of the room. Stiles would've thought he was moving too fast, except Derek was staring very obviously at his dick and not looking the least bit put off by the size.

"Like what you see?" Stiles asked, and he gave his hard-on an encouraging stroke, almost preening. He was standing in the middle of the room, naked, but he didn't feel like he had to cover up, not with the way Derek was looking at him.

"Something like that."

Derek licked his lips, and Stiles clenched his hand reflexively around his dick. If Derek had licked his lips while wearing his glasses, Stiles probably would've blown his load right there; as it was, he still came close. This was going to be a problem, since he'd already known Derek's mouth on his.

Stiles swallowed, and he resumed his stroking. If Derek was going to stare, Stiles could at least give him a show.

"Feeling a little mismatched here, big guy. Wanna lose the clothes?"

Derek obeyed almost immediately. Stiles could've moaned when Derek had stripped down to his black boxer briefs, revealing a body that could've easily come out of a magazine. No surprises there; Stiles knew his workout routine, just like he knew the books-on-tape he preferred to listen to during. The nerd.

"Wow, Derek," Stiles said, intending to make a joke out of it. The joke didn't come, which just left him sounding like he was in awe. That was about right.

Derek looked a little embarrassed and a lot turned on when he sat on the edge of his bed, and Stiles took that as a good sign. 

"Seriously, man. I'm not sure who decided you should look like _that_ , but it's enough to give a guy a complex."

"Shut up," Derek said, sounding only half-serious. "And get over here."

Derek didn't tell him what to do after he was over there, but Stiles had always been good at improvising. As soon as was he kneeling on the mattress next to Derek, Stiles kissed him softly and slid his hand into the leg opening of Derek's boxer briefs. He cupped his balls gently while one finger just barely brushed the base of his hard cock. In response, Derek surged into their kiss with abandon, hungry noises caught in his throat. It was the hottest thing that had ever happened to Stiles, hands down, except it was then immediately eclipsed by Derek grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand lower, until his fingers were between his cheeks. The offer couldn't have been clearer.

"I've got—I've got stuff," Stiles said, not sounding smooth at _all_ , and Derek nodded jerkily.

"Just hurry up."

Stiles all but launched himself across the room to his own nightstand. By the time he'd pulled out lube and turned around, Derek had already stripped himself of the rest of his clothes. He was lying on his back on his twin bed, looking too big for the flimsy mattress. Stiles wouldn't have wanted him anywhere else.

He fumbled the lube before he got it open, and when he'd finally managed that, he immediately squirted too much on his fingers. Stiles would've felt embarrassed, probably, except Derek was smiling softly at him rather than laughing, and his erection hadn't flagged at all from Stiles's awkwardness. If anything, it was twitching more insistently against his stomach.

Stiles pressed a lubed finger behind Derek's balls and was rewarded with a spasm in his thighs. He moved down further, finger questing until he found a soft pucker of skin and hair. He rubbed gently against the tiny hole, and Derek relaxed into it, his body putting up no resistance when Stiles slid his finger inside. Derek was soft and hot and tight, and he made the most perfect noise when Stiles was two knuckles deep. When he started moving his hand in a circular motion, Derek's hips started rolling, matching the movement; Stiles had always known he was a fast learner.

"I knew you were good with those hips," Stiles said with a laugh, and he got a half-hearted glare from Derek.

"I'd be better, if you'd let me ride you," he said, followed by a smug look when Stiles couldn't seem to come up with a response fast enough.

"We—we could do that, definitely." He looked down at his finger pressing into Derek's body; god, what a sight. "Give me a minute though. I want to touch you." He kissed Derek's knee, and spread his legs a little further when he settled his shoulders between them. "I just want to touch you. And see you."

Derek's response to that was a deep flush; Stiles took that as agreement, and he pulled his finger out, replaced it with two. Derek clenched around him reflexively, and it was amazing, watching the ripple of muscles in his ass and legs. Stiles wondered what it would take to leave him shaking, and his mouth watered at the thought.

"I'd like to eat you out one day, if you're down with that," he said mildly as his fingers thrust in and out. Derek squeezed around him again, probably deliberately this time, and Stiles realized this was the first time he'd talked about doing this more than once. He looked up at Derek, half afraid he'd just ruined everything, and found Derek looking at him with something close to wonder.

"Sure. If you want to." He sighed and tilted his head back, eyes closing in bliss when Stiles resumed his stabbing thrusts. "You can do whatever, so long as you keep doing that."

"Feels good?"

"Feels _amazing_."

Stiles added a third finger and was rewarded with a breathy moan. Derek was _sensitive_ and so responsive that Stiles wondered how he was ever going to get out of bed after this. Stiles could've done this alone for hours, and been thankful for the privilege.

Far too quickly, though, Derek reached down and stilled his hand. 

"Your turn." He nodded to Stiles's bed. "Have a seat."

Derek's eyes were burning and his cock was red and leaking, and Stiles pulled his fingers out of Derek with a slick sound. He was so hard that it was beginning to hurt, but he complied eagerly enough with the direction—or order. No sooner had he sat himself fully on the mattress than he found himself with a lap full of Derek, his heavy weight hot against him, with some residual slickness from the lube that had ran down his thighs. It had been minutes since Stiles last kissed him, and that was minutes too long; he leaned forward and kissed him deeply, swallowing the noises he made and sucking on his tongue.

When Derek pulled away from the kiss, he lined himself up and sank down on Stiles's cock. Stiles groaned and buried his face in Derek's shoulder, hands grappling for some hold on Derek's skin. It was _amazing_ , and Derek was bouncing in his lap, working himself up and down Stiles's cock with his strong thighs. He seemed to love it, too, if the noises he made were any sign of that.

It was over too quickly on Stiles's end, but he dared anyone to do better in his place. When Derek started clenching around him, milking him with soft muscle, Stiles was helpless to stop himself from coming with a shudder. It made Derek even slicker inside, oh God, and Stiles reached a finger back to touch his rim, to feel where he and Derek were joined, and then Derek was shaking and coming across his stomach.

It was…it was a mess, but a good mess, even if his ass was starting to fall asleep; Derek really was a big guy.

"That was amazing," Stiles said, and he kissed him on the cheek. In return, Derek mouthed mindlessly at his jaw, breath still coming fast.

"A good going-home present?" Derek asked, and Stiles would've panicked, probably, except he remembered what Derek had said earlier; there'd be a next time.

"No." He kissed Derek's slack mouth before he could say anything. "But it'll make a great welcome-back present."

***

END

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant gif sets:  
> [Derek's hips](http://notboldly.tumblr.com/post/130213029553/stileslovesderek-his-hips-dont-lie)  
> [This is probably NSFW, but so worth it](http://notboldly.tumblr.com/post/89558547739/anatomybitch-venivincere-spevvy)
> 
> Feedback is very welcome, and I hope you all enjoyed; come visit me on [Tumblr](http://notboldly.tumblr.com) if you want!


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